Close
by Mrs. Singing Violin
Summary: An explanation for why Chakotay treats Janeway a little differently than most commanders treat their captains.


Title: Close  
Author: Singing Violin  
Series: Star Trek: Voyager  
Rating: K  
Summary: An explanation for why Chakotay treats Janeway a little differently than most commanders treat their captains.  
Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.

She fainted once.

We were just talking over a mission, in her ready room, and all of a sudden she got this strange look on her face, her eyes glazed over, and like an idiot, I just thought she was deeply contemplating what we were discussing.

"Captain?" I queried, and then she just collapsed. Right in front of me. And I was too stunned to even attempt to catch her. I was six inches away and I let her fall to the floor. I called the Doctor, of course, but by the time he saw her, she'd regained consciousness and was insisting that she was fine.

The Doctor, surprisingly, agreed, diagnosing her with "low blood sugar" and insisting she eat more frequently. She waved him off dismissively, and I understood that she was embarrassed about the whole thing, but the hologram had a point. I know she doesn't like to eat when rations are in short supply, and we were particularly low on energy that week, so she hadn't even had her requisite coffee. I get it.

But the problem remained. It was one thing to faint in the ready room, with only me as her witness — and thank goodness it _was_ me, and not one of the more talkative crewmembers, who would be sure to spread rumors, undermining her authority — and would be quite another if she were to pull the same stunt on the bridge, or in the conference room, or somewhere else where the whole crew would know about the incident within the hour. It could really rattle the whole company, and what's bad for crew morale, is bad for the mission. We learned that at the Academy, and I know she remembers that lesson well, because she does all sorts of _other_ things to help them out. She touches them, she even hugs them on occasion, and she makes it a point to see to their needs.

The trouble is, she makes an exception for herself. She does not tend to her own requirements, with the notable exception of coffee — but only when there are enough rations — because she is too busy worrying about the rest of the crew. Only, I don't think she's considered what neglecting herself does to them. I may have stronger feelings than the rest, but to some extent, they all love her, and trust her, and expect her to be there for them one hundred percent, which she can't if she's suffering. At least, she can try — and continually does —but she won't always succeed. She's asked me before whether I could lead this crew home if something happens to her, and I invariably tell her that yes, I can — what choice would I have, anyway? — but nobody, _nobody_, can replace her, replace who she is and what she does for this crew. If she starts to falter, they will all follow shortly thereafter, and it will be up to me to put the pieces back together before it's too late, and honestly, I don't know if I — or anyone else — would be able to accomplish that gargantuan task.

So, if she wasn't going to listen to the Doctor, I had to figure out a way of making her listen to me. I knew that trying the same tactic — just telling her straight-out that she needs to eat — would be met with resistance and possibly anger at my presumptuousness, so I decided to be more subtle.

Now, I do one thing to keep her in line when we are together on duty, whether in the corridors, or on the bridge, or on a planet on an away mission: I stand as close as I can to her, touching if possible. This serves two purposes: first, if she ever faints again, I _will_ be able to catch her, because I will be right there, and I will feel it as she begins to go down. Second, knowing this, knowing that I will catch her, and not wanting to be in that position, she makes it a point to do everything she can to prevent me from having to. And that, of course, is the goal of this whole exercise: to get her to take care of herself, because she sure as hell doesn't want me doing it.

We've never talked about it. I just gradually decreased her allowance of personal space until it was completely gone. And if she tries to move away, I just shadow her. I'm pretty sure she's explicitly aware of what I'm doing, but I'm not going to bring it up, and neither is she. At first, she seemed annoyed, but now she seems to almost expect my presence, and has settled into it with grace. I would even swear that occasionally it is she closing the distance between us.

I also won't deny that I secretly — or perhaps not so secretly, judging from the rumors I've heard amongst the crew from time to time — enjoy the closeness to her. And perhaps she feels the same way about me. We can't do anything about it, of course — she'd never allow herself that sort of distraction from duty, especially not under our unique circumstances — but I will take what I can get, especially when I have a good excuse. I know it's not proper for a first officer to be constantly touching his captain, but if she hasn't thrown me in the brig yet, I don't think she will.

She hasn't fainted again yet.


End file.
